Military Stick
by JerinAnn
Summary: Percy Jackson is sent to a military school. He has to face kleptomaniac students and evil teachers. One-shot


**A/N: This is my first real Percy Jackson story without having it a crossover. This story isn't a serious on in the sense that I labored over it. I got the idea while reading a book, and decided to make it quickly. This is more about humor than anything else. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. It was fun to write. I could just imagine it in my head. Also, I never went to a military school, so I don't know how things exactly work there, so I decided to just go with my imagination and make it the worst one out there. ~JerinAnn**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Military schools are owned by the state, and Percy Jackson is owned by Rick unfortunately.**

**Military Stick: Percy's POV**

Have your parents ever threatened to send you to a military school? Have they ever drove by it and told you that you would end up there if you don't behave? Well, there's one thing I want to tell you; listen to them! It's not worth it, trust me.

I was expelled from three previous schools, so Smelly Gabe made my mom, Sally Jackson, send me to a boarding/military school. It was terrible from the start. All the students were kleptomaniac or had anger management issues. The teachers would eye all the students like they expected a fight to break out in a moments notice. The teachers also talked to us like we were mentally impaired -given that ninety percent of the student body was - and would yell at us for no reason.

The subjects were even more boring than normal. The teachers didn't believe in fun. The only entertainment came from kids pulverising each other in gym and when the teachers pulled out The Stick and makes you stand in front of the whole class while they whip your butt a hundred times. The kid who was standing up front wouldn't be sitting for the next week.

I was in gym with my classmates when Coach assigned us to play ultimate dodgeball. There was a jerk named Bill who would run around stealing people's dessert and homework, so, naturally, he was on the opposite team. Everyone besides me was afraid of him. He was laughing with his slimy friends while eyeing me. I knew what was about to come next; they were going to play the game Pumble Percy To A Pulp.

When the coach blew his whistle, my entire team fled to the way back of the gym to try to get out of range. Bill's team got all the balls and took aim at only me. They threw them, and most of them went wild, but I was able to neatly dodge the accurate ones.

I picked up the closest ball and ran towards Bill. I never had great aim, so I threw it at his stomach and expected to hit his out-of-proportion face. . . . My aim was a little too low, so I hit him in a place that made me - and everyone else - cringe. Needless to say, he was on the ground.

Coach blew his whistle frantically. "Stop! Percy Jackson, come over here, now!"

My throat tightened as I realized that he had The Stick. All the teachers had one, but I miraculously made it without ever having one used on me until that day. I walked slowly forward, and most of the class was laughing and pointing at me. A few others backed up at the sight of it, grabbing their bottoms while shooting me sympathetic glances. I guess they were recently subjected to it.

"Turn around, Mr. Jackson," the coach sneered.

I obediently turned around and felt the stick hit my backside the moment I was turned away from him. I jumped. How could a piece of wood hurt so much? My bottom was screaming out from only one hit.

He hit my backside a second time, then a third, and a fourth. He kept hitting me with it for eighteen more time. The most a teacher ever hit a kid was eight.

"I hope you learned a lesson, Mr. Jackson: don't do to anyone else that which you don't wish upon yourself." He had a glint in his eye that made me shiver. Something about him wasn't human.

I heard a kid muttering, "Eighteen times, eighteen!"

"Add four to that," someone whispered back. "He hit him twenty-one times."

"It's twenty-two, actually," Nell corrected.

"No one cares, Nobo," Bill sneered while smirking at me at the same time. How he managed that I wasn't sure. He seemed to have recovered from his unexpected accident.

Nell flushed as red as her hair. She was actually really pretty -red hair like flames, big green eyes, freckles that danced across her cheekbones - but she was the smartest person in the class, so she was automatically hated almost as much as me, the freak with ADD, ADHD, and dyslexia.

"He seemed to enjoy it too much," she muttered. "It's not human."

The coach dismissed us before anyone could reply. We changed back into our dull grey uniforms before heading to History with Mr. Boranger.*

He hated all the students and was old enough to have seen all the things he taught. He would paddle anyone who fell asleep during his class or said his class was boring. I made sure to drink as much caffeine as I could before his class started.

I went to my seat and was about to sit down when I heard Bill talking to Mr. Boranger.

"Percy hurt me during our gym class and Coach didn't do nothin' to him," he complained.

"Is that so?" Mr. Boranger asked darkly. "Mr. Jackson, come up here, please."

_Bill's dead. I will beat his ugly face to a pulp after class,_ I promised myself. I was standing in front of Mr. Boranger. He hit me only three times, but my bottom was still sore from Coach's beating, so it felt like he did it fifty times.

Bill was smirking at me as I took my seat. I tried to sit in a way that wouldn't kill my backside, but it was impossible. His friends didn't look nearly as happy as he did. They probably remembered getting paddled themselves.

"Class," Mr. Boranger spoke, calling us to attention. "Today you will be learning about medieval torture methods."

*** Mr. Boranger's name is pronounced "Bor-ain-jer."**


End file.
